


and taking best guesses

by sirenofodysseus



Series: we'll all keep quiet [2]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Suicide Attempt, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to “Don’t Mind Me, I’m Watching”; Whatever (fling, liaison, quickie, etc…) they had going on for them, she knew it wasn’t meant to last. Luther was young and Jane wanted revenge. It was a silly thing to get emotional over, but she just blamed it on the ridiculous amount of painkillers that were still in her system. TL/LW/PJ</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teresa Lisbon

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. 
> 
> If I’ve made any errors in my medical information, I apologize. I’m not a doctor and for the purposes of this fic, I had to do many google searches to try to be as accurate as possible.

 

            “You’re a lucky woman, Agent Lisbon,” Dr. Alexi Hamilton said, as the copper-haired doctor scanned the clipboard before her. Lisbon scowled at the doctor, who refused to believe that she felt well enough to leave the hospital. “If the bullet had hit any lower, you’d be missing a limb right now.”

 

Lisbon continued to scowl at the doctor. “It didn’t, as I’ve obviously still got my arm.” She gestured toward the appendage, which remained pressed against her chest in a blue sling. Dr. Hamilton pursed her lips, before she glanced back up at Lisbon from the dark clipboard. “I’m honestly fine, Doctor. I’ll take my medication, attend physical therapy and I’ll…”

 

Dr. Hamilton shook her head, clearing her throat. “I’m afraid it’s not that easy this time, Teresa.” Lisbon narrowed her eyes.

 

            “What do you mean, Doctor?” Lisbon asked, crossly. Upon Lisbon’s admittance into Sacramento General, Dr. Hamilton’s nurses had sequestered her blood for “routine lab work”, which had only occurred after she had begrudgingly answered the admitting nurse: _yes, I’ve been having regular sexual intercourse for the past two months_ and _yes, I’m on birth control_ and _yes, we use protection_ , and _hell yes, they’re clean_. She didn’t believe any of the bullshit about them checking her blood for skyrocketing iron or sugar levels, as they hadn’t exactly jabbed her with a needle the last time she had been in the hospital for a gun wound.

 

Dr. Hamilton said nothing, tapping her fingers on the backside of the clipboard, and Lisbon rolled her eyes. She knew she couldn’t possibly be pregnant, considering she’d been _extremely_ careful to avoid any accidental babies. Although both men teased her (relentlessly) about supporting the condom economy single-handedly and about how all the trashcan liners (in both her office and in her car) were constructed from strawberry-flavored condom wrappers, the protection was all about avoiding a nine-months-to-life sentence of listening to two men bickering about who had impregnated her first.

 

(And _if_ she had contracted an STD from either of them, she’d kill them with her bare hands.)

 

Finally, the doctor smiled and Lisbon’s heart nearly exploded from her chest. What if the combination of birth control and safe sex hadn’t been enough and she still got pregnant? Luther would _never_ let her leave her desk, and she wasn’t a desk jockey. She was the Senior Agent of the Serious Crimes Unit, for crying out loud! “Agent Lisbon, you are extremely healthy for your age. I’m not surprised with this knowledge, considering you work with Patrick Jane.” Lisbon’s expression lighted, somewhat. “I’ve never dealt with him, of course; but I’ve heard stories about his reign of terror here.” The doctor shook her head, before she continued with a smile. “I know you’d rather be _anywhere_ but the hospital, Agent; but for the time being, I refuse to release you unless you’ll be in the care of someone else.”

 

Lisbon narrowed her eyes again. “If I’m _extremely healthy_ , why do I need a babysitter?”

 

Dr. Hamilton sighed. “Agent Lisbon.” Lisbon watched, as the doctor placed her clipboard on the counter and sat down on her stool. “I’m not concerned about it currently, Agent, but your blood count _does_ have me concerned. I’m not trying to frighten you, but risk of infection is always a possibility when it comes to any injury.” Dr. Hamilton motioned toward her bad shoulder. “The bullet is obviously gone and the skin is sutured, but I am concerned about the amount of rolling around in the dirt you did, prior to medical help.” Lisbon glanced down at her hospital bracelet, scowling.

 

It certainly hadn’t been her fault that the child-killing bastard had run, especially after he had fired a bullet into her damned shoulder. She had only been doing her job in taking him down and if she was infected _because_ of him, well, so be it. At least, she had taken another killer off the streets.

 

            “This possibility of an infection is _small_ , but it’s still possible; it’s why I refuse to release you, unless someone agrees to watch over you for the next forty-eight hours,” Dr. Hamilton explained with a light smile. “It’s medical procedure, Agent Lisbon. If it wasn’t necessary, I wouldn’t be saying it.”

 

Lisbon glanced back up at her, scowling. “I’m not staying here. I hate hospitals. I need to get back to work and…”

 

            “No work for the next forty-eight hours, Agent Lisbon,” Dr. Hamilton interrupted. “As I understand from Agent Rigsby, you have your own office?” Lisbon nodded, slowly. “If you are enclosed within your own office, how is anyone supposed to know if something happens to you? Symptoms of infection can range anywhere between decreased urination and changes in mental ability.” Dr. Hamilton continued to stare at her, her smile gone. “If you were left alone, it would be unlikely that you would realize your own mental state, Agent. One minute you could be fine; and the next, you’re writhing around on the floor. Infection is _not_ a joking matter.”

 

Lisbon begrudgingly agreed that Dr. Hamilton had a logical point. She absolutely hated the idea of taking some of her vacation days, but she also didn’t want to collapse and die from an infection that could have been prevented from the start.

 

With a sigh, Lisbon nodded. “I suppose this is better news than telling me I’m pregnant.”

 

The doctor said nothing for a minute and Lisbon groaned.

 

 

::::

 

Lisbon eyed Jane’s sly smile with trepidation, as he stood in the doorway of her hospital room with his hands tucked into his pockets. She said nothing to him, noting the exhaustion in his features and the stains of blood on his jacket, before she grimaced in his direction and sipped at her glass of water.

 

            “Why aren’t you at home, Jane? It’s nearly…” she glanced up at the clock, before she met his gaze again. “Midnight.”

 

He continued to smile. “I couldn’t go home, not with our Teresa expecting a little Teresa…” Lisbon scowled at him. If she knew it wouldn’t cause a riot, she’d throw the glass of water at him for suggesting such ridiculous things. “Also, I knew you’d be plotting your grand escape. I told Cho you’d never stay, but meh, he seems to believe you’re the better patient here.”

 

Lisbon rolled her eyes. “How much did you bet him that I’d be gone before dawn?”

 

            “Enough money to actually charm the hospital staff into releasing you into my care for the next forty-eight hours, Ms. Lisbon,” Jane told her with a grin. “Dr. Hamilton agreed that the change of location could do you well, considering you’re not dying…yet.”

 

            “You’re a real asshole, Jane,” Lisbon retorted and Jane continued grinning, as he plopped himself down aside her. “I hope you go to Hell, really.” She felt his hand on hers and although she despised public displays of affection, she squeezed his hand. Teasing and bets aside, she knew his presence had everything to do with being concerned for her wellbeing and she wanted to let him know she _was_ okay. Beyond a few pangs of general discomfort, she honestly felt fine and mentally alert. She removed her hand from his, before she slapped him gently. “If you _ever_ suggest that I’m pregnant again, Jane, so help me; I’ll poison your goddamned tea and it’ll look like an accident.”

 

Jane continued to grin. “If it’s not toomuch trouble, I’d like to suggest the use of black hellebore. It’s effective in small andlarge doses.” Lisbon said nothing, shaking her head instead. Jane’s response, oddly enough, was typical for Jane on a good day. “It’s also called the Christmas rose. I would think you’d appreciate the irony, really.” His smile only caused her to roll her eyes and settle back against her propped up pillow. “Look on the bright side, Teresa! If you _did_ poison me here, I’d have ample time to get some help and we could be bedside friends. It would be like one giant slumber party, without the awkward parts.”

 

            “You just want sex,” Lisbon muttered, even though she _did_ appreciate his tact surrounding the entire situation. Jane said nothing. “I’m not into doctor/patient role play, just so you know.”

 

            “So, no nurses outfit?” Jane asked and Lisbon smacked him again. “I believe Luther will be extremely disappointed by this travesty, considering he’s always wanted to be a doctor.”

 

Lisbon eyed him. “How’s Luther?” She’d been in the hospital for nearly eight hours, and she had yet to see or hear from him. Lisbon wasn’t the type of woman to mope about any man, but she was slightly disappointed that Luther Wainwright hadn’t said one word to her in nearly ten hours. However, she’d never admit that to anyone. Not even to Jane, who seemed to be watching her closely. “Well?”

 

Jane continued to eye her. “I haven’t heard from him since yesterday, Lisbon.” Lisbon grimaced and Jane smiled. “Don’t get all hurt, Lisbon. I’m sure Luther has a good excuse, as he wouldn’t just up and refuse to visit you here.”

 

            “I’m not hurt.”

 

            “Uh huh,” Jane argued and Lisbon rolled her eyes. This was exactly the reason that she refused to tell Jane anything personal, really. “Don’t lie to me, Lisbon. I can see what you’re thinking and what you’re feeling, as you’ve never been able to hide that from me.” Lisbon said nothing. “Now relax, woman. I’m sure he’ll be here tomorrow, okay?”

 

(He wasn’t.)

 

::::

           

_...Caleb ripped the buttons from Vivian's silk blouse, pinning her against her desk, as he tore the white material from her shoulders. His fingers worked to unhook her black lace bra and Vivian gave a shivering inhale, watching him (eventually) fling the bra away from them both. "You've been a bad girl today, Detective Montgomery." Vivian said nothing and in response, he moved his lips to ghost against one of her earlobes. He felt her shiver against him, his hard erection grinding into her, before he took her earlobe in-between his teeth._

_Her breath hitched and he smirked, impishly…_

Jane’s derisive snort forced Lisbon to glance up from her book to eye him, her expression darkening. He had already banned her from _all_ case-related materials for the duration of her recovery (and they’d only been in her condominium for nearly twenty minutes, when he had decided that one); so in turn, she had settled on the cringe-worthy romance novel that an old friend had once gifted her as a joke. “I’m reading, Jane.”

 

            “Lisbon,” Jane started slowly, shaking his head. “I know that you have an entire library of crime novellas, yet, you decided to read such a titillating…?” Lisbon narrowed her eyes, almost daring him to finish his sentence. “…and sensual novel?” It was her turn to snort in response. She didn’t want to be the one to burst his bubble, but his wife had probably taken to reading such _titillating and sensual novels_ in his absences. Jane’s finger tapped against the cover of her book. “ _Sex in the Truth_? The author’s obviously original, considering the two main characters are _detectives_ and they’re _investigating_ the truth.”

 

Lisbon rolled her eyes. “It’s your fault I’m reading this.” Jane’s lips upturned into a slight smile, before he pressed his hand to his heart. “Oh, don’t even start with me. I’m not in the mood.” He said nothing and she refocused her attention on the book, even though Jane had a valid point about J.J. Longwood and his (or her) lack of creative titles.

 

_…Vivian would pay for flirting with Detective Jacob Anderson, especially when she belonged to him._

_His fingers caressed her glistening breasts, free and pink-tipped, before he squeezed one of her nipples. Vivian moaned and he moved his lips from her earlobe to taste one of her nipples between his teeth, savoring the flavor of her..._ _._

The sudden feeling of Jane’s hand on her inner thigh made Lisbon grit her teeth in exasperation. Jane might have shanghaied Dr. Hamilton into a babysitting plot, but she wasn’t about to let him shanghai her into anything a doctor had said was “off-limits”. “Stop.”

 

            “What?” Jane asked, innocently. “I’m just resting my hand.” Lisbon glanced up from her book to fix him with a glare, as he pulled his hand back from her. “I just want to reassure myself that you’re okay.” He stared at her from the opposite end of the couch and she frowned, setting her book down.

 

When O’Laughlin had shot her, nearly six months ago, Jane hadn’t so much as blinked an eye. He had asked her if she was okay and had stopped by her apartment once, during suspension, but she always wondered if his “concern” for her had stemmed out of friendship, out of respect for their partnership, or if he was just trying to paint a target on her back. Now, however, she _knew_ he was ultimately concerned about her physical and emotional well-being.

 

 _For how long though_ , the voice in her head wondered and the thought discomfited her.

 

Whatever (fling, liaison, quickie, etc…) they had going on for them, she knew it wasn’t meant to last. Luther was young and Jane wanted revenge. It was a silly thing to get _emotional_ over, but she just blamed it on the ridiculous amount of painkillers that were still in her system. If she had been in the right state of mind, Luther’s absence and Jane’s concern wouldn’t have fazed her at all.

 

            “…want something to eat?”

 

Lisbon blinked at Jane’s question, which had interrupted her thoughts. She opened her mouth to respond _no_ to him when someone knocked at her door and she groaned.

 

            “If it’s flowers,” Lisbon told him, closing her eyes, “tell them to go away.” She doubted anyone would be bringing by flowers at three in the afternoon, but she just didn’t want to have answered the question of _why_ Jane was staying with her.

 

Jane chuckled at her response. “I’ll go answer the door, but do me a favor first? Hide _Sex in the Truth_.” Lisbon eyed him. “If Rigsby’s at the door and he sees that, he’ll think differently of his _saintly_ boss.” Jane’s smirk had her rolling her eyes, but she slowly moved to shove the book under her couch anyway. With the book out of sight, Lisbon turned her head to glance at Jane’s retreating figure as he slammed the front door behind him and called, “I’ll be right back, Teresa.”

 

In a huff, she stood from the couch and moved toward the front door in determination.

 

Who in the _hell_ was he talking to?


	2. Patrick Jane

II.

“Is she all right?”

Patrick Jane crossed his arms against his chest, as he fixed bouquet-carrying Luther Wainwright with a cool stare. He knew he shouldn’t have kept Wainwright’s appearance from Lisbon, but she would have never given him the chance to demean the CBI’s Special-Agent-in-Charge. In fact, she would have forgiven with open arms. 

Several cars zipped past, before Jane opened his mouth. “She’ll live.” The relief was evident in Wainwright’s posture and facial expression, which only angered Jane more. If Wainwright had been so concerned, why hadn’t he stopped by the hospital? Why hadn’t he at least called Lisbon? “What are you doing here?” Wainwright blinked, before he shook his head.

“I came to give Teresa these,” Wainwright said, holding out the mixed bouquet of purple hyacinths, white roses, red tulips and a few light purple gladioli. Jane glanced at the flowers, but refused to move from his spot against Lisbon’s door. “Jane…Patrick, please. I need to explain…”

Jane had heard enough. “She asked about you. What was I supposed to tell her, hm? Luther’s ignoring my text messages. Luther’s ignoring my calls?” He shook his head. “You’re an idiot.” Wainwright said nothing again, before he shifted the flowers to rest under one arm. Jane continued to shake his head. Before the hospital had allowed him visitation rights, he had sat out in the waiting room with his hands speeding over the phone’s keypad. “For someone who calls himself intelligent and people-savvy, you’re extremely blind.” 

“I…”

“If you truly cared,” Jane remarked, grabbing the flowers from Wainwright’s grasp. “You would have been there. You would have called.” Wainwright made to reach for the flowers again, but Jane kept them from him. “Go home, mamma’s boy. You have no right being here.”

Wainwright crossed his arms against his chest, eyes flashing. “You’re a bastard.” 

“And you’re just a kid.”

“That’s not what you said months ago,” Wainwright said, quietly. Jane flushed, remembering that particular conversation all too well. Wainwright had offered his apartment for the night and in turn, his “kind offer” had spurned an argument between the two men. Lisbon, apparently fed up and tired of the bickering, had told them, “I’m leaving. Give me a call when you both figure it out.” 

In the terms of their arrangement, neither he nor Wainwright had been without Lisbon before. After Lisbon’s departure, they had spent the first hour in silence; he had taken to one side of Wainwright’s black leather couch and Wainwright had taken to the other side, both of them attempting to eye the other in contempt. 

Eventually, Jane turned to Wainwright. 

“Think we could pretend to get along?” Jane had asked the dark-haired agent. “For Teresa’s sake, of course.” Wainwright had appeared to think on it, before he frowned.

“She’ll see right through it,” Wainwright had pointed out. Jane had known Lisbon wouldn’t figure it out from him, but Wainwright on the other hand… “I don’t want to anger her. I do care about her.” 

“I suppose we’re making headway,” Jane had joked, grinning. Wainwright had laughed. “We’re actually agreeing on Lisbon’s wellbeing, I…” Before he had been able to finish his sentence, Wainwright had pressed his lips against Jane’s lips. Soft, warm and tasting of bitter coffee, Jane nearly had a coronary at the unexpected action. Using his hands, he had pushed Wainwright away from him to glare. “What in the hell, Wainwright?” 

Wainwright had said nothing for a moment, before he had glanced up at Jane with his pink, trembling lips. “I believe I just kissed you.” Jane had continued to glare at him, as Wainwright had licked his lips. “You wanted a solution for Teresa? I believe I just gave you one that didn’t require lying.” 

“Our hatred of each other doesn’t stem from sexual frustration,” Jane had pointed out, standing from the couch. “It stems from you having called me a…” He had shaken his head. Why did it matter what the reason was? While he had agreed to whatever they were doing, he had never agreed to do anything with or to Luther Wainwright. Lisbon’s ideas about “figuring it out” hadn’t (to him, anyway) involved the idea of locking lips and swapping spit with Wainwright. “And kissing was your solution? You’re absolutely deranged!” 

“I’m deranged?” Wainwright had admonished, bitterly. “You watched Teresa and I have sex, Patrick. If anyone has the right to be angry, I think it’s me.” Jane had crossed his arms against his chest, staring down at Wainwright. “But, of course, that doesn’t matter to you. You’re Patrick Jane.” He had watched Wainwright shake his head. “You’ve had feelings toward Teresa for a while now and getting threats out of the picture is what you do.” Jane had eyed Wainwright, unsure of what to say. His feelings for Lisbon had always been complicated and no psychology baby was going to tell him how to feel. “Teresa’s obviously not coming back tonight. Just leave, okay. I’m sorry.” Wainwright had stood from his couch, briefly glancing at Jane. “It won’t happen again, Patrick. I promise.” The man had started toward his bedroom and out of instinct; Jane had grabbed Wainwright by his shoulder. “Let me go, Patrick. Please.” 

“No,” Jane had replied softly, pulling the man back to him. Wainwright’s russet brown eyes had met Jane’s cornflower blue, before Jane’s lips had pressed against Wainwright’s lips. The unexpected kiss had ultimately begun gentle, yet, it had somehow progressed to the two of them in Wainwright’s bed; Jane’s fingers had tugged eagerly at Wainwright’s belt, while Wainwright’s mouth had worked at Jane’s neck. 

In between Wainwright’s mouth capturing Jane’s penis and Jane’s tantric cries of pleasure, the two had mutually agreed to remain mute on the subject. 

Wainwright’s voice brought him back to reality. “You call me a kid, but you’re still chasing after a maniac?” Jane’s eyes flashed in anger, before he pitched Wainwright’s bouquet of flowers to the ground and stomped on them. “You…you…”

“What?” Jane spat, crossing his arms against his chest again. Wainwright stared down at the bouquet of flowers. “Do you think you deserve any sympathy, Luther? I admit, I’m looking to hunt down Red John out of revenge…but you,” he paused to sneer. “You are looking to hurt the woman that we’ve both come to love in a way.” He paused again, because it was true. They’d never used the L-word specifically, but it was there. Jane only hoped Lisbon realized how much he cared, as Wainwright apparently didn’t give a rat’s ass about her. “What’s your excuse, Luther? Paperwork? Lack of commitment? Forgetfulness? Ignorance? Stupidity?” 

Wainwright said nothing and Jane grimaced. “Go home, Wainwright. You’re not wanted here.” 

In silence, Jane turned his back on Wainwright and waited.

::::

“I’m sorry about that, Lisbon,” Jane apologized, stepping back into her condominium. His eyes caught Lisbon, who remained on the couch. Lisbon said nothing to him and he slowly approached her. “Somebody brought you flowers and…”

“You sent him away.”

It wasn’t a question and Jane rocked back-and-forth on his heels. “Yes, I did.” He watched Lisbon, as she turned her head away from him. “Did you not want…?”

“You should have asked me first.” 

Jane shrugged. “What would the difference have been, Lisbon? Wainwright only cares for himself.”

Lisbon’s silence response made him blink. “So do you, Jane.”

“I know.”

::::

Grazing his teeth against one of her taut nipples, Jane chuckled at Lisbon’s guttural moan. Sixty-three hours into her “house incarceration” and she was already ignoring the good Doctor’s orders. Of course, Lisbon didn’t seem too bothered by that; and he honestly didn’t care as he continued to tease her body with his hands. 

“Has anyone told you that you taste good?” Jane asked Lisbon, teasing, before he tugged her nipple gently with his teeth. Lisbon said nothing, but her hand hit his back and he chuckled. “You don’t taste any better for assaulting me, Lisbon. We’ve been over this plenty of times.”

“Jane,” Lisbon said, breathlessly. “Shut up.” 

He removed his teeth from her nipple and moved his mouth down her soft flesh, feeling the warmth of her skin. Lisbon gave a shuddering inhale and Jane chuckled, nosing her inner thigh before his fingers slipped inside of her. Jane glanced at Lisbon, who had her eyes closed at his small ministrations against her clit. 

Lisbon’s breath hitched and he increased his ministrations, steading his fingers within her as she gripped the bed sheets with her hands. He continued to pleasure her, until she had signaled for him stop with her hand. 

“We can’t do this, Jane,” Lisbon said and Jane frowned, sucking her juices from his fingers. “As much as I despise Dr. Hamilton right now, I’d rather not be kept overnight for not following rules.” Jane groaned. 

“You can tell her that I don’t follow rules,” Jane responded. Lisbon moved to stare at him, crossing her arms against her bare chest. “You can’t get all authoritative in bed or I’ll take you right here. I’m not afraid to break this rule.”

Lisbon uncrossed her arms. “Have I mentioned how much I hate you lately?” 

“Yesterday.” Lisbon said nothing and Jane sighed, as he leaned forward to take her hand. She pulled him from his grasp and he eyed her. Hadn’t they reached the conclusion that Wainwright’s departure hadn’t been completely his fault the night previous? He had gotten hell for his decision to send the young agent away, but in all honesty, Jane just had a feeling that Lisbon could contract something from all of the stress. 

(And in Jane’s eyes, Luther Wainwright was a stress.)

“I should take my shower,” Lisbon finally muttered, slipping off the bed. “I’ve got an appointment with Dr. Hamilton later.” 

He didn’t stop her. 

::::

“Good afternoon, Agent Lisbon and Mr. Jane,” Alexi Hamilton greeted, brightly. Jane didn’t bother hiding his grimace, as his hated for doctors kept increasing tenfold. “How have you been feeling, Agent Lisbon?”

Lisbon, propped up in the hospital bed, glanced at Alexi. “Better.” Alexi smiled at them both, before she glanced down at her clipboard. Lisbon rolled her eyes and Jane choked back his laugher at Lisbon’s disgruntled facial expression. He almost hoped that Alexi suggested another forty-eight hours of “patient watch”, just to watch Lisbon’s reaction, but he knew she wouldn’t. If there had been any blood infection, the symptoms would have unfolded over twenty-four hours after the infection and Lisbon seemed just fine. 

“So, Doc,” Jane addressed Alexi, causing the younger woman to glance up at him. “Think she’ll live?”

“Jane!” Lisbon exclaimed, scowling. Alexi chuckled.

“Mr. Jane, I know she’ll live,” Alexi explained, before she glanced at Lisbon. “Aside from needing physical therapy, you’re fine.” He heard Lisbon let out a sigh of relief and he chuckled again. “You should be able to do day-to-day activities now, without fearing the possibility of an infection. I’d just stay away from the CBI, until you’re cleared for active duty.” 

“Hear that, Lisbon?” Jane asked Lisbon as he continued to grin. “Day-to-day activities.” He waggled his eyebrows and Lisbon groaned. “You know what this means?”

Alexi chortled. “If you’d like, Agent, I can hold him for the night.”

“Nah,” Lisbon said, waving her hand. “He’d never stay anyway.” Alexi nodded. “Well, thank you, Dr. Hamilton.” 

“You are very welcome, Teresa. I’ll see you in six weeks, okay?” 

“Or sooner,” Jane commented, stepping over to Lisbon. Lisbon elbowed him, as she moved down from the hospital bed. “And I say sooner, because Lisbon might cause me personal injury.” Jane rubbed at his upper arm, grimacing in return. “For someone who is injured, you’ve got one…”

“I’d tell him not to antagonize you,” Alexi said, moving toward the door, “but we both know it won’t do you any good.” Jane grinned as Alexi slipped from the room, before he turned back to Lisbon.

“I’m starving.” 

“You’re always starving.” 

“Come on.” Jane grabbed her hand and pulled her from the room. “I think the cafeteria is on the first floor; and you owe me dinner.” 

Lisbon eyed him. “I do, do I?” 

“It’s only fair; after all, I was a model gentleman for the past three days.” Lisbon sighed at his words and Jane chuckled. 

“I suppose I do owe you, model gentleman.” 

The teasing in her voice made him roll his eyes. Apparently, hospitals made her cranky. 

“Think they’ll have jello?” Jane asked, as he wrapped one of his arms around her waist. Lisbon snorted and pulled away from him. “What? It’s an honest question. There’s nothing quite like hospital gelatin to settle the stomach and Wednesday grumpiness.”

“You’d solve my Wednesday grumpiness by choosing lunch anywhere else,” Lisbon retorted. “You did say the tea tasted horrible.”

Jane waved her words away, as they continued toward the cafeteria. “I’ll forgive them for the tea, if they have good jello.” Lisbon opened her mouth to reply, when her phone rang. Ignoring the irritated glances from the nurses passing them, she quickly ducked into one of the hospital alcoves and answered her phone. 

“Lisbon.” He watched the smile slip from her face, as she listened to the caller. “Thanks. I’ll…I’ll be there shortly.” She moved the phone from her ear before Jane touched her shoulder, noting her pensive expression. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Lisbon turned to glance at Jane. “That was Bertram.” Her voice remained steady and instead of saying anything else, he wrapped his arm around her again. “There was an incident.”

“It’s not Rigsby, Van Pelt, or Cho is it.” Lisbon shook her head. “Who?” 

“Luther, Jane,” Lisbon replied, softly. Jane stared at her, waiting for her to laugh. Waiting for her to do anything, but stare at him. Lisbon’s expression didn’t change and his stomach rolled. What could be so bad that Bertram would call Lisbon personally? Aside from another one of his good golf friends being murdered? “I…we’re needed on the third floor.”

She started ahead of him and he stared at her backside.

The third floor was the Intensive Care Unit. 

::::

“What happened?” Jane heard Lisbon ask Bertram, as the pair stood feet away from Wainwright’s room. He tried to pretend he had no interest in Bertram’s words, but he was failing miserable as Lisbon’s grasp on his arm continued to tighten. 

“Agent Wainwright’s secretary stopped by his apartment earlier this morning, so she could drop off his forgotten briefcase from the night previous. He didn’t answer the door and his secretary entered his apartment, only to find him on the floor of his living room.” Bertram glanced at Lisbon, frowning. “According to his secretary’s statement, Wainwright had several empty bottles of prescription pills near him. If Ms. Dorchester hadn’t dropped by with Wainwright’s briefcase, Agent Wainwright wouldn’t have survived the day.” Bertram’s frown deepened. “Of course, what do doctors and silly little girls know?” 

Jane eyed Bertram. While he seemed relieved, Jane knew Gale Bertram didn’t truly care about Wainwright; his tight expression of concern and care was all about good publicity. If Wainwright had managed to kill himself, Bertram still wouldn’t have cared. Regardless of how the situation had gone done, a seemingly innocent act of suicide by a CBI Special-Agent-in-Charge was going to raise plenty of questions about Bertram’s leadership. He almost thought about giving Bertram hell, but Lisbon’s tighten grasp on his arm told him she’d kill him. 

“Do the doctors believe it was a…?” 

Bertram nodded. “Yes, Teresa,” he admitted. “They do.” Jane felt his chest tighten. To hell with the idea of remaining impassive and disinterested. Had his words caused Wainwright to go off the deep end? He hadn’t told the man to kill himself nor had he suggested it! But Jane still felt guilt. “He’ll be fine, eventually.” 

No, Jane thought, he won’t. 

After Red John had killed his wife and daughter, he had attempted to take his own life. Jane had said nothing to Lisbon about it, as the hazy memory of it had been a moment of weakness in his life. If it hadn’t been for Dr. Sophie Miller’s help and his thirst for revenge, Jane might not have survived the first two years after Angela and Charlotte’s deaths. While Wainwright wouldn’t have the physical scars, Wainwright would always carry the mental ones and the thought sickened him. 

“The doctors had his stomach pumped over four hours ago, so he should survive,” Bertram explained, before he grimaced slightly. “Wainwright just had to choose my election week to pull this ridiculous stunt, didn’t he?” 

Jane clenched his fists. 

“Selfish bastard,” Bertram muttered, eyeing Lisbon. Jane felt Lisbon tense next to him. “If he pulls through, it’ll be a cold day in Hell before he’s in charge again. Crazy…”

Although Jane despised violence in general, he couldn’t help but slam his fist into Bertram’s jaw. Bertram yelped and Jane grinned in Lisbon’s direction, ignoring the tirade of curses and threats from the Director’s mouth. 

Lisbon, apparently, couldn’t even bring herself to admonish him for it.

“I’m not apologizing, Lisbon. He deserved it and if you make me apologize, I’ll punch him again.” 

Wainwright’s weak voice caught his attention. “You’d just have to apologize again, Patrick.”


	3. Luther Wainwright

 

            “I’m still debating on whether I should hit you or hug you,” Teresa said, hours after the Head Nurse had declared Luther fit for visitors. Luther said nothing as he briefly closed his eyes and tried to focus on the inane hospital noises, instead of Bertram’s _selfish bastard_ comment. However, he couldn’t. He had no idea why Patrick hadn’t agreed with Bertram’s opinion, as he _had_ been selfish. He had avoided the hospital, he hadn’t checked in with Teresa and more importantly, he had attempted to take his own life. How in the hell could he have been so stupid?

                 

He opened his eyes again and glanced at his visitors again.

 

Teresa had her injured shoulder in a sling and Patrick wore one of his trademark three-piece suits, as they both sat on his left side. Patrick’s chuckle made him flinch. “I briefly thought of punching him in the jaw, Lisbon, but I’ve already gotten two rants and a pinching today.” Luther watched Patrick rub his arm, mock glaring at Teresa.

 

            “If you stop being antagonistic, they’d probably like you better.”

            “Oh hush, Lisbon,” Patrick argued, before he focused back on Luther. Luther glanced between Patrick and Teresa, hesitantly. Were they going to belittle him? Call him a freak? Tell him they didn’t want him anymore? He shifted and steeled himself for their harsh words. He could take them. He had always been able to take them. “How are you feeling, Luther?” Luther blinked, surprised.

 

            “I feel like I had my stomach pumped,” Luther commented, coolly. Both Teresa and Patrick frowned at him, before he absent-mindedly rubbed at his stomach. His childhood had been spent in hospitals and having his stomach pumped again, merely reminded him of the first few times. Uncomfortable and tiring. He glanced between them again, waiting for their rants. “I don’t know what you both want me to say, honestly. I’m not…” he stopped and licked his lips. “It wasn’t…” He sighed at the looks of disbelief on Teresa and Patrick’s faces.

 

            “Lisbon being _shot_ in the shoulder was an accident, Luther,” Patrick interrupted and Luther glanced down at his own hands, shaking slightly. Couldn’t they just see how sorry he was? “You swallowing an entire bottle of prescription pills wasn’t an accident.”

 

He felt Teresa’s hand touch his. “What happened?” Luther said nothing, turning his head away from the both of them. He didn’t want their pity. He didn’t want their _ridicule_ at his stupid decision. He just wanted to be _alone_. He just wanted to suffer in peace. “Luther,” he heard her voice soften and he glanced above their heads, staring out at the blue curtains keeping their section of the ICU private. “Talk to us, please. We’re not mad…” Luther scoffed. He wasn’t an idiot.

 

            “I abandoned you. I _hurt_ you, Teresa.” Luther said, refocusing his attention on Patrick and Teresa. Patrick had one of his hands on Teresa’s good shoulder. “I didn’t check on you. I didn’t see if you were okay. I was selfish and inconsiderate due to my fears.” He glanced back down at his shaking hands, which clenched the itchy hospital blanket tightly.

 

            “What were you afraid of, Luther?” Patrick asked, softly.

 

Luther shrugged. “I didn’t think it mattered.” Truthfully, he just had never felt comfortable enough to share anything with any of them. He knew somewhat of Teresa’s past, but Teresa still didn’t go around discussing openly what anybody had done to her. As for Patrick, he knew enough about the conman’s past not to pry any further.

 

Aside from that, their “relationship” wasn’t built on feelings and personal details. It was purely about sex and nothing more. If Teresa and Patrick wanted to pry into _his_ feelings, they were getting “personal” and Luther refused to become vulnerable to either of them.

 

            “Luther,” Patrick sighed. “It does.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Our relationship doesn’t entail me telling _either_ of you my personal details. We’re friends with benefits and nothing more.”

 

            “You know we’re more than that,” Teresa whispered, squeezing his hand. Luther met her stare. “You’ve seen more of us than anyone, Luther. Why are you doing this? Why are you shutting us out?” Luther grimaced. “If this relationship was _just_ about sex, we wouldn’t have any personal contact. We’d keep to the sex and never mention it; but we’ve had sex _in_ my apartment, in _your_ apartment and in Jane’s. I wouldn’t have sex with just anyone, Luther.”

 

            “She’s right, you know,” Jane commented, grinning. “If casual sex was our game, we all wouldn’t be here right now.” His expression grew somber. “You’ve obviously started to have more feelings for the both of us, Luther. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

Luther crossed his arms against his chest, mindful of the thick wires attached. “And I’m not supposed to feel anything at all when my attempts of apology are thrown away?” He glanced between them again. “I also suppose I’m not supposed to take any of this personal, right?” By the quick glance Teresa and Patrick shared, he knew he was right. “Just leave. I’ll be fine.” Teresa squeezed his hand again. “I’ll be released and none of this will matter, so you…”

 

Teresa’s lips against brushed against his, effectively stopping his sentence.

 

            “And when you get released,” Teresa muttered, after she had pulled away. “We’ll have this discussion.” He felt her run her hands through his hair and he closed his eyes, smiling at the sensation of her fingers in his hair.

 

            “You just need to be released first,” Patrick commented, chuckling and Luther stared at him. From the tales of _other_ CBI Agents-in-Charge, Patrick Jane had escaped the General Hospital various times during his CBI career. He wondered if Patrick would help him escape, just so he could avoid the stares of pity. “I’d offer to help you escape from this prison, Luther, but I value my life.” Luther chuckled, before he frowned. “What’s wrong, Luther?”

 

Luther took a deep breath and glanced between them both, hesitantly. Their reassuring smiles told him _everything_ would be all right in time…but for right now, he knew _nothing_ would be right between them.

 

Even if he told them the truth of why hospitals frightened him and _why_ he had taken the pills, intending to end his own life. They’d never understand.

 

            “It’s just been a long day, Patrick,” he lied with a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

 

::::

 

Stripping his tie and snapping the hospital bracelet off his wrist, Luther pressed his fingers against his stomach and closed his eyes. It had been a rough forty-eight hours of paperwork and questions, but the hospital had finally released him with a prescription for an antidepressant that he had no intentions of taking. Bertram had already left him several phone calls, informing him that his presence in the CBI would no longer be required and that he needed to clean out his personal belongings before the new interim boss took over.

 

Luther had listened to the first ten seconds of Bertram’s message, before laughter had overtaken him. He honestly didn’t even care that Bertram had stripped him of his title or that everyone probably knew why Bertram had done it; but he was just happy to be away from the CBI.

 

He was just happy to be alone.

 

Luther popped the buttons on his collared shirt and shed the suffocating material, grimacing as he stepped in front of the oblong mirror and eyed his scarred torso. He hated his own body and the history, which also unfortunately went with each faded scar; yet, he continued to pretend that he was happy and everything was okay.

 

And for a while, with Teresa and Patrick, he _had_ been happy. They had somehow stopped him from feeling as if he were drowning with all of the new changes in his life and neither of them had ever pestered him about his scars. For once in his life, he felt _comfortable_ in the presence of several individuals regardless of whatever they all were doing and he had fucked it all up because of his childish fearof hospitals.

 

If it weren’t for that fear, he could have been there for Teresa. He could have comforted her and held her hand, whispering sweet nothings until she felt calm enough to relax. If it weren’t for that fear, Patrick would have never stopped him from apologizing. If it weren’t for the fear, he wouldn’t have tried to kill himself.

 

Frowning, Luther took a step backwards.

 

He was a coward.

 

            “You aren’t a coward, Luther.” Patrick’s quiet voice nearly caused him to have a heart attack, as he jerked his head in the direction of where the blonde-haired man stood. Dressed in a light grey three-piece suit, Patrick casually leaned against the doorway with a small smile. Luther said nothing, choosing to glare instead. “Nosocomephobia, the fear of hospitals. It’s quite normal, really. I should have realized your issue with hospitals, given your lack of presence in them. I’d say that’s why you avoided the hospital when I was in my fugue state months ago, correct?”

 

Luther shrugged.

 

Half of it had been his fear for hospitals. The other half, however, had been his amnesia. Teresa hadn’t wanted to say anything, as she doubted Patrick would keep the details of their sexual relationship quiet from the team or Gale Bertram; and their relationship would have raised several red flags to the bureau.

 

            “What do you want, Patrick?”

 

Patrick continued to smile. “How are you?”

 

            “I’m fine,” Luther muttered, grimacing again. He didn’t need pity _or_ false concern. “If you found your way inside, I’m positive you can find your way out?” He turned away from Patrick to study his reflection again, when he caught Patrick’s reflection moving toward him. “Not right now, please. I just want to be…”

 

As usual, Patrick ignored him and Luther felt the man’s arms snake around his waist.

 

            “I’m not going to say I understand,” Patrick said, lowly. “It’s cruel and I think you, out of everyone I know, deserves better than _that_.”

 

            “That’s a relief,” Luther retorted sarcastically.

 

Patrick ignored him. “However, I _will_ say this. You’re an idiot.” Luther glanced down at the floor, ashamed. “I’ve stood in your shoes once, Luther. You’re not alone and if you continue to think you are, you’re an idiot.”

 

            “And how is that not cruel?”

 

            “Let us help you.”

 

            “You still haven’t answered my question.”

 

           “Because you also know you’re an idiot,” Patrick replied and Luther said nothing. “You’re standing here, questioning whether or not you’re an _idiot_ for being cowardly. I’d say you think you’re an idiot and you need to know, you are. You could have called Teresa or me. You could have…”

 

            “Would you have actually answered the phone?”

 

            “No, probably not,” Patrick admitted, grinning. Luther eyed his reflection. “However, I’m still in trouble for turning you away. If I had ignored your phone call also, I would have never heard the end of it from Teresa.” Luther watched one of Patrick’s hands rub at his own side. “I think she broke one of my ribs.”

 

            “I did not,” Teresa called from outside the bedroom, causing Patrick to chuckle.

 

            “I’m pretty sure she did,” Patrick muttered.

 

Luther rolled his eyes. He should have known Teresa was around.

 

            “Now, you’re going to redress and join us for dinner,” Patrick said, grinning. “We’ve got pasta and red wine; it beats hospital food any day.”

 

Resignation in his features, Luther did as Patrick ordered.

 

::::

 

In bed later, between them both, Luther stared up at the darkened ceiling of his bedroom and focused on his own steady breathing. He had no idea if Teresa and Patrick were still awake, but he hesitantly spoke.

 

            “When I was ten, I watched my youngest sister die. She hadn’t been ill for years or months, but ill for five days. My father thought she was faking her illness, until she had fainted during one of our childish squabbles and…” Luther paused, his voice tight. “Her head hit the concrete floor and by the time she was admitted into the ER, it was too late. I blamed myself for pushing her.”

 

He felt Teresa’s hand find his and squeeze.

 

            “After we buried Ashley, my parents divorced. I was the middle child and only son, so my father immediately took custody of me and my mother took custody of my older sister. I thought we’d be fine, you know?” He bitterly laughed. “I wasn’t fine. I never _was_ fine. Prior to my eleventh birthday, I had only been in the hospital twice. Up until I was eighteen? Nearly twenty times. I fear hospitals, because I’m brought back to _those_ memories; to the memories of my father’s rage, to the memories of my sister’s ashen expression, to the memories of death and life.”

 

            “It’s not your fault,” Patrick muttered. “You did nothing wrong.”

 

            “I _pushed_ her.”

 

            “I thought sibling rivalry was a common thing amongst children though,” Patrick commented. “I never had any siblings, but don’t siblings usually push each other?”

 

            “I squabbled with my brothers,” Teresa answered, her hand still in his. “Once, my brother pushed me. I fell and broke my arm.”

 

Luther felt distressed.

 

How was he supposed to explain his guilt? He had pushed her and she had _died_ , nearly forty-eight hours later. Why weren't they blaming him, especially when his father had blamed him until his dying day.

 

            “Your father _knew_ your sister was ill, Luther,” Patrick said. “If anyone should be blamed, it should be your father. He should have taken her to the hospital and gotten her checked out, instead of ignoring her symptoms.” Luther said nothing for a few moments. “You did nothing wrong.”

 

            “For once,” Teresa added, “I agree with Patrick. You did nothing wrong.” Luther closed his eyes again and tried to sleep, but Patrick’s indignant cry caught his attention.

 

            “For _once_?” Patrick asked, shifting in the bed. “Who solves most of your cases? Who thought of this threesome idea, hm? Teresa, I hate to say it; but you’re wrong about this _for once_ business. You’ve agreed with me over one-hundred times since we’ve started working together.”

 

            “Jane,” Lisbon replied with a soft chuckle. “Go to sleep, already.”

 

            “Do we get goodnight kisses’ first?”

 

            “Sleep, Jane.”

 

            “Goodnight blowjobs?”

 

            “Jane! Knock it off!”

 

            “How about a hand job?”

 

Luther heard Lisbon sigh. “Not only are you insatiable; you’re also annoying.”

 

            “But you love me anyway.”

 

            “Sorry, Jane. The jury’s still out on that one.”

 

He gave a half-hearted chuckle, which resulted in the feel of Patrick’s lips against his.

 

            “I say we just help ourselves, Luther,” Patrick replied, his mouth hovering inches from Luther’s chest. “A good blowjob, after all, _is_ cathartic. You’re either in, Lisbon, or you’re fending for yourself.”

 

Teresa scoffed. “And now we’re back to single-handedly supporting the condom industry, I suppose.”

 

            “I need a yes or no answer, Lisbon. You’re either with us or we’re making you watch,” Patrick answered. Teresa said nothing. “Well, I guess _we’re_ supporting the condom industry tonight.”

 

            “Wait,” Luther said, as he felt Patrick’s hand dipping below the elastic band of his boxers. He felt Patrick’s stare. “If she’s not joining us, can we support regular condoms tonight instead? I’m tired of supporting awful strawberry-flavoring.”

 

            “A man of my own heart.”

 

He felt Teresa’s hand collide against his chest and he grinned with a laugh, shifting himself to kiss her on the lips. “I just asked to stop supporting it. I never said we couldn’t use other non-nightmare inducing flavors.”

 

            “I’m all for watermelon, vanilla or banana truly,” Patrick answered.

 

Still grinning, Luther let Patrick’s touch take his worries away.


End file.
